


besame mucho

by anupturnedboat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 1947, Alternate Universe - Historical, F/M, Friends to Lovers, One Shot, Romance, Summer Romance, UFOs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:20:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25923502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anupturnedboat/pseuds/anupturnedboat
Summary: They’ve skirted around this conversation all summer. He’s been dreading it, knowing she’s going somewhere he can’t follow.“Don’t do that,” she frowns.“What?”“Say something stupid, like you’d be holding me back.”
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	besame mucho

He waits behind Motts like he does most nights, his cap pulled down low, sweat dripping between his shoulder blades. She’s late, or _maybe she’s not coming at all,_ that ratty insecure voice whispers in his head. Summer is almost over, and she’ll be leaving for New York soon, which might as well be the moon as far as he’s concerned. Maybe, it would be easier on them both if she slipped away without saying goodbye.

Before he can think too much on that depressing scenario, headlights come sweeping around the corner, and the brand new Mercury eight her father got her as a graduation gift comes into view. It’s about the nicest car Gendry’s ever driven, but tonight she stays behind the wheel. 

Out here, the only radio signal they get is out of Albuquerque and he can hear Jimmy Dorsey playing from the rolled down windows.He slides into the passenger seat, and her lips push roughly against his before he can even get the door shut.Her fingers twist his shirt, and his cock twitches hopefully.

They haven’t always been like this. She was just a kid when they first met, rough around the edges like she is now, despite her upbringing. Clever and kind and unperturbed by the grease under his nails or his empty pockets, she had followed him around the shop class she’d bullied her way into, pestering him with a million questions about drill presses, and belt sanders and chop saws. He’d been drawn to her like a moth to a flame.Watched out for her, even when she protested that she had plenty of brothers for that.

Later, he’d gotten the job at Motts, and she’d stop by after school, bringing him a pop and keeping him company until closing time. The boys teased him about his _sweetheart_ , humming _My Featherbed_ , under their breath, but he knew better than to fantasize about stealing kisses from rich girls like Arya Stark.

But then she’d gotten this car, and grown an inch, and filled out in distracting places , and their friendship had morphed into something more. Something he knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold on to beyond this summer. But he gives in now, like he always does, leaning into the awkward angle until they are both breathless.

When they break apart he can see that her gray eyes are stormy, and there is tension in the set her shoulders.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

She ignores that, flicks the radio dial up until the music fills the empty spaces.

Sometimes they hit the all night diner outside of town and gorge themselves on coffee and pie, sometimes they just drive, the scrub and cholla flying past like ghosts, trying not to talk about the future.

Sometimes, like tonight, they head up to Acorn Hill and watch the sky.

Arya turns off the ignition,the radio has gone staticky anyway. From this vantage point they can see the entire sky and all the surrounding small towns. The base, and the strip with its blinking red and blue lights where the planes land.

“You could come with me.”

“To Sarah Lawrence?” he scoffs.

“To New York dummy,” she scowls.

“I bet the General would love that.”

“I’m not a little girl, father can’t stop us. I don’t care what any of them think anyway.”

She twists in the seat, her fingers tracing the stubble on his jaw. her eyes searching his.It sends a shiver up his spine.

They’ve skirted around this conversation all summer. He’s been dreading it, knowing she’s going somewhere he can’t follow. She always says he wears his heart on his sleeve. This is one of those times he hopes it’s true. He won’t say it; _I love you,_ won’t make it harder, but he thinks she knows anyway.

“Don’t do that,” she frowns.

“What?”

“Say something stupid, like you’d be holding me back.”

He sighs. “Does your family even know about me?”

“What I do is none of their business.”

“And they wouldn’t approve.”

“I don’t care about any of that. Money doesn’t make you any better of a man.”

“Arya I-“

“Don’t say it. Not yet,” she scowls.

“Ok, then, not yet,” he acquiesces.

“Kiss me instead,” she demands pushing him against the door, straddling his hips, another awkward angle for his large frame, the door handle digging into his back.

He does, soft, bittersweet, his hands cradling her face gently, which he knows isn’t what she wants, but it’s what he feels. He will have a hell of a crick in his neck come morning, but the weight of her in his lap far outweighs the discomfort.

She reaches for his wrist, guides his palm under her skirt, up her thigh. “More,” she sighs against his lips.

His fingers brush against silk. They’ve never gone this far before. He opens his eyes, watches her lashes flutter as he presses his thumb against her in a rhythmic motion.He’s so distracted by her sharp intakes of breath that the blue pulses of lightnearly escape his attention completely. But then the car fills with it and he stills his hands. “Arya, look.”

She’s annoyed with him for stopping, but then she notices the otherworldly blue light pulsating around them and she falls back into the seat.

“Gendry, what is it?” she stutters as the radio crackles back to life, startling them both. Jimmy Dorsey and his orchestra play as the car begins to shimmy and shake. They clutch each other like children. Their eyes drawn to the sky and the disc shaped craft suddenly rising over the trees.

The air on his arms stands up, Arya’s nails dig into his skin. There are no words, no thoughts, all of the atoms and molecules and cellsin his body feel like they are pushing through his skin, sweeping through the air towards the thing in the sky.

The pulsing blue light blots our everything else for a long, white hot, moment. Then there is a rush of air, a popping sound and the disc shaped thing is gone as if it never existed at all.

Arya’s hands are shaky as she tries to the start the car, but it won’t turn over, and she slams her fists onto the steering wheel.

“For fucks sake,” hemutters, scooting over, suddenly wondering how he’s going to explain to General Stark how he came to be with his daughter in the middle of nowhere, his hands under her skirt, his tongue in her mouth. She glares at him but hops out and lets him have a try, but it’s useless.

They pick their way back to the road, hoping for a lift. It’s deadly silent. “You can never say anything,” she finally says. “About that,” she clarifies lifting her chin, her eyes on the sky.

“Course not,” he replies hotly. Thinking how he’d not be like Mr. Dondarrion, drunk, and rambling about little green men and lights in the sky if he can help it.

“I mean it Gendry,” she says sternly, stopping, her fingers on his wrist like a vise. “Promise.”

He does, because when has he ever denied her? But also because he knows Arya Stark better than anyone, and he knows there is something she isn’t telling him, something that has her hands shaking. He pulls her into his arms. Brushes a dozen kisses into her hair, against her temple, down the fine line of her nose, before she gets antsy and rises onto her toes and pulls him into a desperate kind of kiss that tastes like the end of summer.


End file.
